


I Lived

by rubygirl29



Series: I Lived [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:52:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <i>The Winter Soldier</i> and the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers assemble to put their lives back together. Like true love, the way home is never smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Spy Who Came in From the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Not AoS compliant, because the TV show clearly can't go the way this story is. So I guess it's an AU but reasonably in the realm of canon. Also, not entirely TWS compliant, either … but who knows? The title is from the One Republic song _I Lived_.

**The Spy Who Came In From The Cold**

Clint is sitting in a bar in Seoul listening to a whiny informant who is guzzling down Midori cocktails like they're the elixir of the gods. There is a big TV over the bar showing a baseball game, and another angled in a corner running what looks like the Korean version of CNN, which nobody is watching. He is getting tired of listening to this guy complain about how hard his life is. 

"Man, unless you give me something worthwhile you're not getting more money and I'm not babysitting you while you schmooze around the edges of the problem and drink Midoris."

The problem is a cell of North Korean gun runners hoping to destabilize the government in the South. They've been smuggling guns across the border to carefully planted infiltrators. Clint's informant is one of them, and isn't sure the guy is as eager to please as he seems. At least this is a normal-garden variety sort of slimeball terrorist, and not a god or a monster from another galaxy. It's almost relaxing. If Nat were here, it would be just like old times, but Nat is in D.C. with Cap, working with S.H.I.E.L.D. on some new hot initiative that Fury wants close supervision on. Fury, since New York, has been a man obsessed with developing defenses against another alien threat. He's been keeping Clint in the field as much as possible, which suits Clint just fine. 

He doesn't want to be in New York or D.C., or in any other S.H.I.E.L.D. facility that could be a trigger for emotions he wasn't ready to deal with. Guilt, grief and loss lurk in his nightmares; he can't keep the vision of Phil dying with Loki's spear in his chest out of his dreams. He can't deal with feelings that stab through his own heart when he thinks about it. He _loved_ Phil. Their relationship had run the gamut from antagonism, to respect, to friendship, to sexual attraction and, finally, to love. 

Then Loki had happened, Clint was compromised, and Phil was murdered. Intellectually, he knows he wasn't at fault, but emotionally, he was wrecked. _Is_ wrecked, but at least he's useful. He's doing what Phil would have wanted him to do. He's carrying on with the job. 

He pulls out several _won_ for the drinks and is about to start out the door when his phone vibrates. He looks at the text from Natasha.

_Are you alone?"_

_Y_

_Someplace private?_

_Are we having phone sex?_

There is a hesitation. _Seriously. Get someplace private. Now. Then call me._

Clint ducks down an ally. He switches from text to voice. "Okay. What's going on?"

"We've been compromised at the highest levels. Clint … Fury — Director Fury is dead."

Clint can't quite process that. Fury is immortal, untouchable. "I'm coming in."

"Clint, you _can't_. Steve and I are fugitives. People we trusted are after us." There is a tremor in her voice he hasn't heard since Phil died. "Don't even think about coming home. Get your tracker out and … I don't know … Just go into deep cover. You _have_ to do this. I can't lose you."

"Okay, okay. I get it Nat. Deep cover. I can't stay here."

"Go to Mumbai. Find Bruce. If anybody can keep you safe, he can."

"Nat, watch your back."

She gives a short laugh that might be a sob. "I have Captain America with me."

"Mumbai, got it. Nat, I love you."

"Me, too." And then she's gone.

Clint removes the SIM card, then smashes his phone with his heel. He drops the card down a sewer grate and hopes the coming storm will wash it beyond the city. He stops in a pharmacy and buys a pack of razor blades, some analgesic/antibiotic spray, Dermabond and self-adhesive sterile gauze pads, and acetaminophen. He purchases four burner phones from two different kiosks, then returns to his hotel where he gathers up his gear and checks out.

He has more gear in a locker at the bus terminal. Wearing a cap low on his head and a pair of sunglasses, he retrieves the go-bag stashed there. Inside the bag are untraceable credit cards and two passports, one British and one Russian, obtained a few years ago from some of Natasha’s less “legal” contracts. He also has several thousand dollars in Euros and enough Korean currency to purchase a plane ticket at the airport for a flight to India. He isn't sure this is the best idea Nat's ever had, but of all the Avengers Bruce has the least invested in S.H.I.E.L.D., and has a healthy disrespect for the US government and military. He also has “The Other Guy,” which Clint counts as a win for him.

Before he leaves for the airport he takes a room in a questionable area of town. The sheets are dingy, but not filthy. There is no bathroom, just a sink and a mirror. That's all he needs. He strips off his shirt and feels with his fingers until they locate the small bump just below his collarbone where his tracker is located. He swabs the area then rinses his fingers with the antiseptic solution. His skin is numb, but he knows the muscles beneath aren't. He takes the razor and wills himself to steady his fingers. He draws the razor down the skin, past the first layer of muscle. Using tweezers from his first aid kit, he removes the chip and drops it in a glass of water. He cleans the wound, squeezes dermabond into it and on the surface. When the adhesive pulls dry, he covers the small cut with the gauze pad, cleans up the room and crushes the tracker into micro-fragments with the butt of his Sig. He sweeps up the debris and throws it out into the rising wind. Working quickly, he packs everything from the go bag into his backpack.

He climbs out of the window and drops to an awning, then somersaults to the pavement. He walks quickly down the alley, stops to buy two _dakkochi_ skewers, and eats slowly, watching for any signs of a tail. There are a lot of food stands here and an open market. The garbage dumpsters are being filled. Clint drops his go-bag into one, and in minutes, several food carts have dumped their trash over it. 

He's feeling exhausted now, but he takes a pedicab to a tourist hotel. The lobby is busy, which helps Clint make the next step. Using a lobby phone, he calls for a cab. When it arrives, he tells the driver to take him to a more luxurious hotel at the airport where he checks in as William Blackwell, an expatriate British journalist. 

His room is on the second floor, as requested. There's not much of a view, just the airport and the runways. It's a big room with a big bed and a private bathroom. Clint sets a few traps at the door and windows before he takes a quick shower. He throws himself on the bed. He's asleep in ten seconds. 

He's awake two hours later. It's time to move on. He checks the dressing on the cut. It's clean, the cut is already nearly closed. It doesn't hurt to raise his arm, but the lack of the device is an ache. At first, when he'd agreed to join S.H.I.E.L.D., he hated it, but the first time he had been captured and tortured the tracker had led Coulson to him. It had become a talisman. He had touched it before every op, touched it because it was his lifeline to Coulson. Now Phil was gone, the tracker was dust and he was back where he had been twenty years ago. 

This time he has skills, he has weapons designed by Tony Stark, and he has a cold fire burning in his belly to avenge Coulson and Fury. First, he has work to do. 

He takes the stairs instead of the elevator. He waits in the shadows, away from the lobby entrance until two taxis pass him by, then catches the third. He gives instructions to the driver to take him to the port of Incheon. It's a big, industrial harbor. Clint watches the ships, finally selects a medium-sized freighter. He approaches a man who looks like he's in charge of on-loading. He speaks good English, and Clint soon bargains for a berth. It's not a fast route, but the longer he's off the grid, the safer he'll feel. The freighter is scheduled to depart in two hours. Clint finds a bar on the waterfront and settles in with a beer.

Three minutes later, Clint watches as his world shatters. The screen is too small to show the horror completely; smaller, it doesn't look so immediate, but Clint knows what he's seeing when a helicarrier smashes into the Triskelion. He feels the blood drain from his face, his fingers lose their feeling and his bottle drops to the counter, spilling beer across the bar in a foamy tide. He grabs his knapsack; runs from the bar and disappears into the teeming city of Incheon. He doesn't have time to look for Bruce. He can't; not when he's lost everything and everybody he's lived for. Losing Coulson had nearly killed him, losing Natasha would be a knife to his heart. His team has been gutted. He feels like he's bleeding out. He doesn't know what to do, but he knows the one person who might be able to make sense of this. Banner will have to wait. India is no longer an option. Clint catches a tram to the airport and buys a ticket to Los Angeles. When Tony Stark is the only person you can turn to, you're in trouble.


	2. You've Got A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint turns to Tony Stark for help. Yeah, it surprised the heck out of him, too.

**You've Got A Friend**

Clint washes up in the men's room at LAX. He had dozed fitfully on the plane despite the length of the flight; as if by staying awake he could will the plane to fly faster. He doesn't watch the in flight news. He doesn't trust the networks to explain what the fuck happened. They've been pretty much anti-S.H.I.E.L.D. since New York. 

His reflection in the mirror is haggard, his beard is dark and rough, the hollows of his eyes are bruised and he's as pale as if he's bled out. He doesn't care. He buys a black coffee with a shot of espresso in it and dumps in as much sugar as he can stand. He rents a car and drives up to Malibu.

At any other time, he'd enjoy the drive up the coast, the scenery, the fresh sea air. Instead, he grimly puts the pedal to the metal and hopes the cops aren't watching too closely. Apparently they have better things to do than harass a guy in a boring mid-price coupe no matter how fast he's driving. He pulls up to Stark's compound and is greeted by Jarvis's familiar voice.

"Hey, J-man. It's Clint Barton — Hawkeye." 

"If you would be so kind, sir …" A small retinal scanner appears above the speaker and Clint flinches, remembering what Loki had made him do, before he looks steadily into the lens.

"Welcome, Agent Barton." There really isn't any point in correcting the AI. The gate opens and Clint drives slowly into the compound. He knows the Mandarin had destroyed Stark's house, but the reality is staggering. Clearly, a lot of construction has been completed, but there are still raw scars on the cliff where the house had plunged into the ocean. He parks where the driveway curves around the house and goes up to the front door, which swings open silently, courtesy of Jarvis. 

"Tony?" Clint calls. "Pepper? Hey, Jarvis, where's everybody?"

"Miss Potts is at a conference in Palm Springs. Mr. Stark is in his workshop. If you will take the elevator to the lower level, I will inform him that you are here."

"Jarvis, does he know about Washington D.C.?"

"Yes, of course. Sir keeps up with all the news."

That makes it easier. The elevator descends silently. The lower level must be deep below the main floor. The doors glide open and Clint steps into Tony's lab. The acrid scent of an acetylene torch scours the back of his throat and his ears are assailed by AC/DC blaring from hidden speakers. It's almost comforting in its familiarity. Tony is standing by a vise, soldering wires on what looks like a huge motherboard. 

He's thinner, his muscles hard and ropey beneath tanned skin. His goggles hide his face, but Clint can see the sharp angle of his jaw and thrust of his chin. He has the same ridiculous beard that would make a lesser man look like a wuss. 

"Tony!" No response. "Jarvis, cut the tunes, okay?"

He does, and Tony wheels, brandishing his torch like a weapon until he sees Clint. The blinding white of the torch dims and Tony shoves his goggles up. "Where the hell did you come from?"

"Korea."

Tony grunts. He sets down his torch and takes off the goggles. Clint's eyes narrow. Something is different. "Your arc reactor is gone."

"Well, yeah. Improved surgical techniques … I invented a way to extract the shrapnel without tearing my heart to shreds. Simple, really." He seems nonchalant, but Clint can see now how thin his face is, how dark and haunted his eyes are. 

"You know what happened? Fury is dead, S.H.I.E.L.D. attacked?"

"I know. The question is what do you know?"

"What?"

"Hail Hydra?"

"What the _fuck_ does that mean?"

"Ah, so you don't know." Tony comes closest, peers at Clint. "My God, you look like twenty miles of bad road. When was the last time you slept or ate?"

"Ate — a sandwich on the plane, and I dozed a bit." Now that he thinks about it, he's swaying with exhaustion. 

"Okay … so here's the rundown. Cap is alive, so is your brain-twin, Romanov."

Clint's hands start shaking. "Are you sure?" he asked, hoarsely. "Tony, please —"

"Please? Barton, really? Are you sure you're not Hydra?"

"Stark, I swear if I had my bow with me …"

"Easy, Legolas. Romanov called me from Cap's bedside. He's kind of broken, but he'll heal fast. Romanov was shot, but she heals almost as fast as Cap." Tony peers at him. "You really should get some sleep, you're stupid with exhaustion."

Now that he knows Natasha is alive, Clint has to agree. "Can I stay?" he asks. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

Tony's eyes soften. "I have room. Just don't shoot my walls full of holes. The house has been through enough."

"Iron Man?"

"My name is Tony Stark. Right now, there is no Iron Man. Jarvis, guide Agent Barton —"

Clint swallows hard. "I'm not _Agent_ Barton anymore."

Tony nods. "Jarvis, show Barton to the guest room. Send Dummy with food in twenty minutes."

"Yes, sir."

Clint is absurdly glad that Jarvis, at least, is the same. The guest room is easily as big as his apartment in New York. Even under repair, the house is welcoming and gracious. He supposes that's Pepper's touch. The walls are white and reflect the light on the waters. The bed is huge, and the cover on it is soft and blue. The bathroom is a marvel of glass tiles, stainless steel and surprising warmth. The shower has every setting from a hard massage to steam. Clint adjusts the flow and stands under the pulsing massage then takes advantage of the steam. It's the first time he's felt truly clean in weeks. He wraps himself in one of Tony's huge bath sheets and falls face down on the bed. He's asleep in seconds. He doesn't hear Dumm-E arrive with food, or the retreat when the bot sees him asleep. He doesn't dream.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

When he wakes, the room has the faint blue of twilight. He's slept for ten hours and he feels like he could sleep for another ten. His stomach growls loudly, reminding him that he needs to eat. He staggers into the bathroom where he takes another quick, cool shower to wake up. Somebody, maybe one of Stark's bots, has laid out his clothes from his pack, freshly laundered and no longer a wrinkled mess. He dresses and goes downstairs. 

Tony is standing by the window. He's changed out of his stained work clothes and he looks up when he sees Clint's reflection in the glass. "Have a drink?"

Clint declines. "Not on an empty stomach." 

"I can help that," Tony says with a slight smile. He takes a breath. "Pepper left menus with Jarvis before she went to Palm Springs. She seems to think I can't take care of myself."

"I don't know where she got that idea," Clint quips, but thre is no humor behind it. "Coulson used to do that when he first recruited me. I was kind of a mess. He'd leave notes telling me what to eat, when to eat it. I … I kept the notes for a long time."

Tony seems to be on the verge of saying something when Jarvis interrupts with the announcement that dinner is served. Clint's body needs food, but he doesn't have much of an appetite. He eats Tony's salmon poached in champagne, spring peas, delicate roasted potatoes and vanilla bean gelato, but he can't say he tastes much. When he's finished, he does feel better; more human, less bruised and empty. Tony pours coffee for them, and Clint, who has never met the cup of coffee he didn't love, follows Stark out to the balcony overlooking the ocean. The hush of the waves is soothing. A year ago, he would have let himself be lulled by them, but not now.

"If S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone, who is there left to trust?" Clint's voice sounds immeasurably weary. 

"I know who _I_ can trust," Tony says. "Bruce, Steve, Natasha, Thor, you … Speaking of being together … why are you here and not on the Bus?"

"What? What bus?"

Tony blanches. "My God, you don't know? Fury never told you?"

"Told me what? He's had me running circles around the globe ever since New York, like I was a danger to everybody, including myself."

"That mother-fucking son of a bitch," Tony says. "He kept you away on purpose." He sounds like he's talking to himself, not to Clint. "I had no idea …"

"Kept me away from what? No idea about what?" Clint is starting to hyperventilate. 

"Not from what. From who. Barton, you'd better take my offer of a drink now." Tony pours Clint a stiff shot of whiskey."Take a swallow and then listen to me."

Clint has never seen Tony like this. His bravado is gone, his eyes are soft and concerned. Clint takes a swallow of liquor and lets it burn down his throat before he speaks. "Kept me away from what?"

Tony shakes his head. "I guess there isn't an easy way to say this." He draws a breath. "Barton, Phil Coulson is alive. He's in charge of a small cadre of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on a flying fortress called The Bus."

He can't have heard that right. "What are you talking about?"

"Coulson is alive. Fury kept sending you out on wild goose chase missions to keep you away from S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint's hands are gripping the glass so hard that they're shaking. "It's a lie! A damned Hydra lie, and you believe it?"

"Fury told me last week."

"Last week? Why wait? Why would he do this?" Clint can't keep the break out of his voice. Anger, disbelief and hurt are all tearing at his heart. "Fury's a professional liar," he says flatly.

Tony shakes his head and shrugs. "Maybe he had some sort of premonition like he knew something was wrong and decided to let somebody in on the big secret. Maybe the guilt finally got to him. I don't know, Barton. Truly."

Clint feels cold and dizzy. He sinks down on the couch. "Do you think it's a lie? Could he Phil be alive?"

"I think it's possible."

"Thor saw him die. He saw Loki rip his heart apart."

"Listen, Barton, maybe it's some sort of Asgardian magic, or modern medicine. It could be some variant of the secret super-soldier serum protocol they used on Cap. I don't know. What I do know is that there is an accountant named James P. Cole who is coded way above his pay grade for hazardous duty. For what? A paper cut? So, being nosy, I dug some more. What I found is a Team of scientists, an assassin, a hacker, and Agent Melinda May - Coulson's partner when he was nothing more than a specialist agent, and Mr. James P. Cole, who seems to have sprung full grown from Nick Fury's head."

Clint very deliberately sets his glass down and walks over to the railing. The last color is bleeding out of the horizon and the stars are coming out. The shores are rimmed with lights and the waves are shushing softly on the rocks below. It looks pristine, untouched. No wonder Tony is here and not in New York. This is a different world. 

"He's alive," Clint swallows hard. 

"I wouldn't bet against it."

Clint gives a short, sharp laugh. "If he's alive, we have to find him." 

"He could be different," Tony says. "He might not be the man you knew."

Clint has to force himself to relax his jaw. "There is no fucking way Coulson would ever be Hydra. Find him, Stark. If I never ask another thing again in my life, I have to talk to him."

"I can't —"

"Don't tell me you can't, Stark! You can find a fucking needle under twelve haystacks and ten tons of concrete. Find him! Please." Clint hates the desperation in his voice, the way he's still shaking, the fear of letting hope into his heart. 

"I'll do what I can. Chances are pretty good that if Agent doesn't want to be found, I might not be able to find him, and I'm not so sure that finding him will be a good thing, because if I can find him, so can Hydra."

Clint reaches inside his shirt and pulls out the chain he wears with his dog tags and Coulson's breakaway; they're warm from his skin. He holds them out to Tony. "This is all I had - have - of him. Fury gave it to me. He said the other part had been buried with Phil. They had his blood on them." He looks at the metal tag. "It wore off, and I don't even know when." He really doesn't mean to sound so desolate.

Tony's eyes are dark with sympathy. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"You know Phil and secrets," Clint tries to shrug it off, as if he wasn't breaking all over again. "Please find him for me."

"I'll try."

It's too much to process. Clint sways slightly, and Tony puts his arm around him. "I may not be Iron Man, but I can be a friend," he says as he and Clint walk down the hall to the guest room. Clint is too exhausted to object as Tony strips him out of his clothes and hustles him into bed. "Get some sleep."

Clint sighs and burrows into the covers. He wants to believe, truly he does, but his heart is still heavy in his chest, and his pain is just as sharp.


	3. Trouble Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Steve arrive with troubles of their own.

Clint wakes early, feeling like jet lag has finally been vanquished. He dresses in sweats and goes down to the beach and runs on the sand until his calves ache from the unfamiliar surface. When he finally stops for breath, he does a series of stretches. The sea air feels fresh and soft this early, but the day isn't going to be an easy one. 

Reluctantly, he returns to the house and showers. When he emerges from the steamy heat of the bathroom, there is a tray on his bed set up with coffee and fresh fruit. Clint doesn't recall telling Stark that he doesn't like orange juice in the morning but he seems to know that. Jarvis is up to date on dining preferences, apparently, though Clint wonders if Stark is that observant. His sharp eyes and quick mind pick up on the smallest deviation in mechanics, but he persists in giving Pepper strawberries despite her allergy. 

When he's finished he goes down the winding suspended staircase to the main room. Tony is finishing his own coffee. He's wearing the same clothes he wore the day before and his hair is wildly disordered.

"Did you sleep?" Clint asks.

Tony looks at him. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

"Right. So … what kept you awake?"

"Hacking is a very entertaining endeavor, particularly when you realize that the S.H.I.E.L.D. data dump only revealed about 25 percent of their files … and those being the least secretive of the batch."

"You hacked S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Tony shrugs. "Not the first time I've done it."

Clint leans forward in his chair. "Did you find anything?"

"Coulson's files have all been deleted."

"By Hydra?"

"No, by an outside source. Coulson has a top hacker on his team. I'd say he ordered the deletion of the files himself. He's effectively turned himself and his team into outlaws."

"Damn," Clint slumps into his chair. "So there's no chance of finding him?"

"Not through S.H.I.E.L.D., however, I did pick up a cell phone transmission two days ago from someplace in Canada."

"Northern Territories?" 

"I may have to revise my opinion of your skills of deduction, Agent Barton."

Clint smiles. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has a small base there, codename Providence."

"It could be compromised."

"Then we need to get him out of there." Clint says, his voice steady, even as his heart is pounding. 

Tony gives him a truly evil smile. "I think we can do that. I also think we should go to New York. It's closer to D.C., easier for Cap and Agent Romanov to get there. If Steve needs more medical care, he can get it at the tower. I can boost a signal to Asgard from there." When Clint looks confused, Tony grins. "Dr. Foster helped with that."

"Avengers assemble?" For the first time since Phil … since he believed Phil had died, Clint feels as if he isn't carrying the burden alone. He stands up, ready to take on the challenge, to move, to act. 

"Damn straight, Legolas. We're getting the band back together. Pack up your gear — but before you do that, there's something I want you to see." He retrieves a long black case from behind the sofa. "Open it."

Clint does, a bit gingerly, then draws in a breath. Tony has always had a hand in the design of his weapons, but this bow looks more deadly, the sights more accurate, the arrows more diverse. He's never seen anything more beautiful. 

"You did this for me?" he asks, slightly stupefied by the genius that has gone into the creation of this bow.

"Do I know any other medieval weapon-weilding archers? No … I don't, so it must be for you."

Clint manages not to roll his eyes. "Thank you," he says sincerely and takes the weapon outside to shoot arrows (harmless practice ones) into the distance. The bow _sings_ for him. He packs it carefully with his other gear. If there is going to be a fight, he wants this weapon with him.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Tony's jet has been refurbished. The stripper pole is gone, the Playboy mansion furnishings have been replaced with utilitarian, but comfortable, seats that recline. The flight attendants are wearing simple black trousers and crisp, white blouses. Tony doesn't leer at them once. He greets them politely, introduces Clint and settles in with a Stark tablet and a cup of coffee. He hands Clint a new StarkPhone.

"Guaranteed hack-proof, bug proof." 

"Hydra proof?"

"The software is updated. Every outgoing and incoming signal is scrambled and run through an encryption program twice, then the code resets itself. It's like the previous data never happened."

"You're a paranoid bastard, Stark."

"It's not paranoia if somebody's trying to kill you."

Clint sighs. That pretty much sums up his life. "I can call Nat?"

"Sure. She might as well hear the details from you. Here's the plan." When he's finished his instructions, Tony settles his earphones. "Can't hear a thing."

Clint doesn't mind the privacy. He dials Natasha's number. She answers with a cautious, "Yes?"

"Nat, it's me."

"Where are you?" Her voice is low, tense.

"Right now? Somewhere over Nevada on Tony's jet. After the Triskelion, Tony was a safer bet than Bruce, and a hell of a lot easier to get to quickly. How are you and Steve doing?"

"We're healing."

"Can he get out of the hospital?"

"The plan is they'll release him tomorrow."

"Get him out today. Stark's sending a chopper to pick you up at these coordinates." He can hear Natasha repeating them softly to herself. "You've got four hours."

"They haven't found the Winter Soldier," she says quietly. 

"Tasha?" It's a name he only uses when they are alone; it's too delicate, hinting at past pain for both of them. He hears it in the way she draws in a breath. 

"Yes?"

He wants to ask if she knows Phil is alive, but this might not be the time or place for it. Instead he just says, "Be careful."

"That is not what you were going to say," she chides gently. "We'll talk about this later." She disconnects.

Tony is frowning at his tablet, but it's not a worried frown, it's more like he's trying to solve a problem. His left foot is tapping in time to whatever he's listening to, so Clint leaves him alone. He pulls out his own tablet and watches the Triskelion attack over and over on a loop, because if he still can't believe it happened.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Stark's jet lands at a private airfield near the Blue Ridge Mountains. Clint emerges and scans the landscape for danger, his eyes focusing on every leaf, every moving shadow, until Tony rests a hand on his shoulder, startling him. Clint blinks away the unseen threats. "Where are we?"

"My father's hunting lodge. He left it to Obadiah. I haven't been here for years. Don't worry, I've kept the place up. The titular owner is Jarvis Moore, Sr., the original Jarvis. We'll be safe here."

"Will we?"

"Safe as houses," Tony gives him one of his charming shark-like grins. "Precautions have been taken since Obadiah died to secure the property."

It's good enough for Clint. He realizes with a shock that he actually _trusts_ Stark — at least as far as he can trust anybody but Phil. Now he doesn't even know if he can trust himself. He nods sharply and follows Tony towards the lodge.

It's a large house, built in the late nineteenth century. Tony tells him that the original owner was one of the Robber Barons. Inside, it's all dark woodwork and wrought iron, gleaming floors covered by expensive oriental rugs. The mounted heads of deer, elk, and even a black bear glare down from the walls. A huge rack of moose antlers hangs over the massive stone fireplace.

"Depressing, isn't it?" Tony says grimly. "The place gave me nightmares. Once I moved to California, I never came back." He looks up. "I think I hear the chopper. Shall we?"

Clint follows Tony out to the deck where the level grassy surface makes a perfect landing pad. Clint sees the chopper before he hears the blades cutting through the air. He feels the deep thrum in his chest as it nears, hovers and lands. The motor cuts off, the door opens and Natasha is down the short ladder. She runs towards Clint, nearly knocking him off balance. 

He gathers her into a hug. Her size and delicacy always surprise him when they're close. When she fights, she is larger than life, stronger than he can ever be, fast and sleek and deadly. When she hugs him, she is like a bird in his arms. "I'm so glad you're alive," she murmurs. "So glad."

"Tasha … " He hugs her again, hard and quick. "I'm fine. How's Steve?"

"Healing." Steve makes his way a little stiffly to Clint and holds out his hand. "Hawkeye —"

"Cap." He studies Steve. He's bruised and pale, walking with the extreme caution of somebody who knows it will cause him pain. "Holy shit, Cap. I never thought I'd see the day you looked worse than I do after a fight."

"Give me two days and I'll be fine."

It's not an exaggeration. The serum will heal him quickly, though the fact that it's taken this long makes Clint wonder who the hell beat Captain America to a pulp. Maybe that's a story for later, he decides, since Steve is an interesting shade of pale and swaying on his feet. "Tony!"

He catches Cap as he sags and Tony runs over, easing Cap's arm over his shoulder as they head inside. "You said he was all right," Stark accuses Natasha.

"I said I could get him out of the hospital, I didn't say he was fine." 

Clint touches a bruise on her cheek. "You okay?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Everything has changed." She returns the caress and he catches her hand and holds it against his cheek.

Tony clears his throat. "Sorry, to interrupt this reunion, kids, but we really need to get inside." He pushes several buttons on a remote and the grassy circle suddenly moves, descending like the hatches on an aircraft carrier. Tony shrugs. "I thought it might come in handy." 

They follow him inside. "Jarvis, blackout, please." Lights flicker on as concealed shades cover the windows. "There is a surplus of bedrooms on the second floor. If you're not up to the stairs, there is an elevator in the hall. Dinner at eight?"

There is something surreal about this; the country house, the mysterious host, secret panels and doorways — if Clint didn't trust Tony, he'd be crawling the walls to find a way out. Instead, he follows Natasha up the stairs. That Steve takes the elevator is more worrying than his own issues.

"What the hell happened, Tasha?" He follows her down the hall as she opens doors. Finally she stops. 

"This one."

It's a surprisingly feminine choice She's picked a room with pale green walls and carpeting. The duvet on the bed is a soft floral print. She sinks down on the mattress and winces when she reaches down to unlace her boots. Clint kneels and does it for her. She sighs and wiggles her toes. "Thank you."

"You've taken care of me often enough … even if the last time you gave me a concussion and bruised ribs."

"Don't … I don't want to remember that."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, not one of my favorite things, either." 

"What happened to Steve?"

"The Winter Soldier." Clint feels sick and Natasha's lips have gone white and taut. She's told him about the Red Room, about being trained as an assassin, about the man they called The Winter Soldier, who was used to terrify them into obedience; to program them, as he had been programmed. They are stories to give him nightmares, and God knows he's held Natasha often enough as she wept and shook with fear in her sleep. 

"Where is he now?"

"Nobody knows. Steve … he won't talk about what happened." She rubs her eyes tiredly. "I hope there is a jacuzzi tub in that bathroom." She gives him a faint smile. "What are you hiding from me, little Hawk?"

He wants to tell her, but he _can't_ not until he sees Phil with his own eyes, touches him with his hands. Yeah, he's a Doubting Thomas, but he can't risk false hope. "Nothing … I was worried. I missed you."

Her mouth twists in a wry smile that doesn't touch her eyes. "You never could lie to me."

Clint shrugs, a lift of his shoulder, but he doesn't reply. "I'll see you at dinner." As he leaves, he hears a stream of Russian curses hurled at his back. At least they aren't knives. 

He picks the room across the hall from hers. It's fairly generic, like a good hotel room, though he doesn't doubt that the furnishings are genuine antiques and the Oriental rug is the real deal. Right now, he wants to shower and change out of his travel clothes. He keeps looking at his cell phone, as if Coulson will text him out of the blue and tell him he is alive. 

He runs the water as hot as he can stand it, letting the jets beat against his skin and muscles. He dresses in clean jeans and black tee shirt. His hair is its usual post-shower mess. He runs his fingers through it to smooth down the ends, and his heart gives a sudden beat in his chest, remembering Phil's smile as he watched Clint try to tame his cowlicks.

He was right not to tell Natasha. Tony could be wrong. It could be a Hydra trick. It could even be Fury playing a final mind-fuck on the powers that be. 

"Jarvis, where are Captain Rogers and Agent Romanov?"

"They are both still in their rooms, Agent Barton. Would you like me to page them?"

"No! I mean, no thank you, Jarvis. How about Tony?"

"Master Stark is in the smoking room to the right of the stairs."

"Thanks, J." He swears if the AI could, he/it would sigh.

He finds Tony where Jarvis had said he was. The smoking room was the sort of place nineteenth Century gentlemen would retire to after dinner for a cigar and brandy; dark wood, books chosen for their binding instead of their words, a looming fireplace, hunting prints. The place is a Downton Abby cliche (Hey, Phil _made_ him watch it). 

Tony holds out a glass of amber liquid. "The bar is still stocked," he said. "I can't fault Obadiah for his taste."

Clint takes the glass and sips. The liquor is hot and smooth. Clint knows top shelf … and this is from the shelf at the top of the Empire State Building. "To bastards with good taste." Tony laughs hollowly. "So, did you tell your brain-twin the news?"

"No." 

Tony's brow lifts. "Why not? I thought you two shared everything."

"What if it's not true? What if it's a Hydra trick? What if it's a trap? I can't hurt her like that — give her hope and then snatch it away. It's happened too much to both of us. This way, one of us will sleep well tonight."

Tony's expression is sympathetic. "What would make you believe me?"

"It's not you! It's … I need proof. I need to look into his eyes and see the truth there. Maybe I need to punch the sonovabitch for lying to us for the past eighteen months."

"It was Fury's decision. Fury's orders."

"Fury is fucking dead."

"Ya think?"

"You don't?" 

Tony narrows his eyes. "Maybe you should ask Agent Romanov or AD Hill." He takes a swallow of the whiskey. "They would know where the bodies are buried."

"What makes you think I'd tell?" Natasha prowls into the room. "A girl has to have some secrets."

Clint glares at her but it is Cap, who is standing in the doorway who speaks up. "The time for secrets is past, Natasha. They have to know the truth, no matter what Fury wants."

"Wait — wants? Either that's an emotional slip of the tongue or —"

"Fury's alive," Steve says. "Alive and gone into deep cover. We don't know where he is." 

"Well, isn't this room just rife with people keeping secrets," Tony says, both mocking and angry.

"You don't have any?" Steve asks. "Did you tell Barton about Maria Hill privatizing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Global Security?"

"Oh, I've got a much bigger secret than that." Tony glances at Clint. 

Clint freezes. His hands tighten around the glass. He isn't aware of it until Cap plucks it from his fingers. "Not without proof …" His eyes go to Natasha. "I can't believe —"

Jarvis interrupts. "Sir, there is aan incoming transmission. Would you like me to display it on the screen?"

"Yes."

The view screen blinks on. The image sharpens. Clint utters a cry and Natasha grabs him. "Coulson?" Her voice is shaking. 

"You died." Clint whispers. 

Phil nods. He looks sad and weary. "I did. But I was brought back. Fury lied to you all to protect me, to protect you."

"Protect us? From what? From you? From some _magic_ Loki poisoned you with? I _know_ Loki's magic, Coulson."

"It wasn't Loki," Coulson's voice is clipped, hard, and his eyes warn Clint off from asking any more questions. "Stark, we're in California. Can you help us?"

"On the way. Jarvis will send coordinates."

"Time to get off the net." Coulson's face fades into the crystal view screen and Clint has to bit his lip to keep from reaching for it. He doesn't feel the tears on his face until Natasha wipes her own away. 

"He's alive," she says. 

Steve looks stunned, uncertain. "I saw his blood on those cards."

"Fury lied." Clint repeats. He turns to Tony. "You were right."

Tony shrugs. "I usually am." 

Surprisingly, Steve laughs. "God, Stark. Your ego is the size of Texas."

"It used to be bigger. I'm getting better." He smiles charmingly. "Dinner?"

Clint stares at them. "I'm not hungry." He stalks out of the room. Natasha makes a move to go after him, but Steve stops her. 

"What?"

"Let me talk to him. I've had some experience with this whole resurrection business."

Natasha nods at him. "You should go to him." 

"Jarvis, where is Hawkeye?" Steve asks.

"Agent Barton is in the gym. Take the elevator to the basement." 

"Thanks, Jarvis."

"I do not think he wishes to be disturbed."

"I'll take my chances." He and Natasha pause outside the elevator door. The wood paneling slides open. Steve hesitates. "Jarvis, are there stairs?"

Natasha gives Steve a slight grimace. "A little wary?'

"Maybe I just need the exercise."

Tasha raises a brow. "Really?"

^*^*^*^*^*^  
The steady, familiar motion, the pull of his muscles, the draw of his bow, the release and satisfying thud of the arrow in the farthest target — Clint can feel the anger and tension start draining away as he shoots. Finally, when his quiver is empty and his arm and fingers raw, he stops. Sweat is dripping down his face, soaking his shirt. He wipes his eyes with the hem and looks up. Steve is leaning against the wall, watching him. 

"You haven't lost your touch," he says. "You don't miss."

"I never do, Cap." His knees feel weak and he sits heavily on the bench. Steve holds out a bottle of water. Clint cracks the cap and drinks it down. "Thanks."

Steve takes a deep breath. "When I woke up, I was in a room that Fury had made up to look like I was still back in the '40's. The girl they sent in was perfectly made up from her hair to the shoes on her feet. He made one little mistake. The radio was playing a game that I had been at — I knew right then that something was off, that things weren't as they seemed. I ran, and there I was in Times Square. I had been _dead_ for more than seventy years."

"I get it, Cap, I really do, but I don't see what that has to do with what Fury and Coulson did — the lies they told. Coulson never, not once in all the years I've known him, lied to me, until now."

"Fury lies because he's trying to protect —"

"He's trying to protect his damn ass and he's destroying our lives in his wake." Clint's bitterness is in his voice, he can taste it in his mouth, like ashes. "Don't even try to justify that."

Steve sits next to Clint. "They put up an exhibit at the Smithsonian featuring Captain America and the Howling Commandos. It's kind of weird going there. It's like seeing ghosts. And there I am, right along with them; only I'm standing there alive."

"What does that have to do with Phil?"

"Bucky Barnes."

"Cap, I'm not in a mood for riddles."

"He was my best friend, my older brother, my family when mine was gone. He was a damn fine soldier. Then Hydra got hold of him, experimented on him before I could rescue him. I didn't know what they did to him. A few weeks later, we were on a mission. There was a fight and Bucky, he fell from a moving train into a chasm. Nobody could survive that. Nobody who hadn't been … modified, like I was."

"Cap, what are you saying?"

"Bucky is alive. He's the Winter Soldier. He nearly killed me, and then he saved me." 

"I'm not the brightest guy in the room, Cap …" Clint sighs. "I'm sorry about Bucky."

"No matter what happened, no matter how betrayed we feel or how much we hurt, we've been given a second chance. We can't throw that away."

"At least Phil didn't try to kill me," Clint says and to his surprise Steve smiles at that. 

"Yeah, you've got that over me and Bucky."

"Did he know you?"

Steve shrugs. "I think he remembered something. I'd like to say it was me, but I'd settle for him remembering what he used to be."

Clint drains the bottle. "Well, noble as that is, wouldn't you rather have more?"

Steve's jaw tightens. "It's not going to happen. He's vanished, probably back to Hydra because that's the only thing he knows."

Clint, who has been in places where he welcomed pain because it meant he wasn't invisible, thinks he has more in common with Barnes than he does with Cap. "Phil was the first person who believed I was more important than what I could do with a weapon. He taught me that loyalty isn't brought with money, or forced on to you with pain. He looked at me and said he would do everything in his power, anything he could, to earn my loyalty. I was a dirty, wounded, angry kid, but he looked at me and made me believe he was telling the truth."

"And I was a skinny geek with weak lungs who was too stubborn to die. Then Bucky stepped in and took care of me. He _saved_ me. I want to do the same for him, but I don't think I'll get the chance."

 

Clint doesn't know what to say. Rogers looks so desolate, his still-healing scars marring his perfect features. "If he has one cell of memory in his brain, he'll remember you, Cap."

"What about you and Agent Coulson."

Clint sighs. "I guess I won't know how I really feel until I see him."

Steve stands up and offers his hand to Clint, pulling him up. "You should get some rest."

"You, too."

"Yeah, I need my beauty sleep," Steve jokes but he keeps his hand on Clint's shoulder as they leave the gym and head upstairs.


	4. Said Good-bye, Turned Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil returns but is that enough?

Clint doesn't sleep much that night, finally waking up in the still-dark early morning. He wanders downstairs. Jarvis' disembodied voice startles him as he sets foot on the bottom step."Is there anything I can do for you, Agent Barton?"

"Stop sneaking up on me?" Clint mutters, then speaks up. "Umm, no thanks, J. Is anybody else awake?"

"Nobody else is out of their rooms, if that is what you mean."

"Yeah. I think I'll just raid the refrigerator." Jarvis starts an inventory of the contents of Tony's pantry. Clint holds up his hand. "I got this, J." 

"Very good, sir." Does the AI disapprove? Clint smiles. " 'night, Jarvis." He opens the pantry and takes out bread, peanut butter and honey. It's comforting; a combination that has persisted in his life from his mom to the circus, to Phil. Hell, this is the longest relationship he's had in his life. The thought makes him smile. Phil would laugh … or would he? He doesn't know if Phil has changed, if he even remembers what they had together or if he still wants it — If Phil wants _him._. 

Clint lays his head on his crossed arms and tries not to cry. The bread tastes like sawdust in his mouth, choking him. 

"Clint … " Natasha's small, warm hand massages his shoulder. "Here." She sets a glass of milk on the table. Drink." She stays next to him until he stops coughing. He can blame the tears on that. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. "Swallowed the wrong way."

"Of course you did."

"I'm all right."

"Yes?" She sits next to him, her hand tracing small circles on his back, soothing him. "What is it, Little Hawk?"

She hasn't called him that in a long time. He takes a breath and clears his throat. "I'm scared, Nat. What if he blames me for what happened?"

"Remember what I said about monsters and magic? Do you think Coulson doesn't understand what we were up against? What Loki did to you? You need to have faith in him. You need to stop blaming yourself."

"Yeah, because that's so easy to do." 

"No, because it is true." She stands up and kisses the top of his head. "He has more faith in you than you know."

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then I will have to do a cognitive recalibration on him." She lets a smile ghost over her lips. "I remember so little about my childhood, but I remember my _Babushka_ telling me to stop worrying about today because tomorrow will take care of itself." 

"And if the shit hits the fan?"

"Then we have each other, _Malishka_."

"You should talk to Steve."

"I have," she says. She pauses. "I kissed him."

Clint raises a brow. "Really?"

"It was … nice, even if it was just a diversion." 

"Be careful, Tasha. He's got a lot to deal with. He doesn't need complications."

She cuffs him lightly. "Deal with your complications before talking to me about mine." She stalks off, but there is no real anger in her. Clint finishes his milk and cleans up. He wants to watch the sunrise, but instead, he goes back to his room, lies down and to his surprise, falls back to sleep. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
When he comes downstairs; he's shaved and showered, and at least he looks like he's rested. There are pancakes and sausages in the warming oven, and a variety of fresh juices. Clint loads up his plate, and he hears the murmur of voices coming from the dining room. Steve, Natasha and Tony are talking in low voices. Clint pauses in the doorway. "If my ears are burning, I'm going back upstairs."

"It's not always about you, Barton," Tony gestures with a piece of pancake on his fork. "Join the party."

"What's happening?"

"ETA is thirty minutes."

Clint's appetite vanishes, but he knows he has to eat. Natasha is watching him, and Steve looks concerned. His bruises have faded significantly overnight and when he gets up from the table, he's moving more easily than the day before, if still with some caution. _It must be nice,_ Clint thinks, then reminds himself that Steve is ninety-five, has outlived the love of his life and most of his friends … if Barnes is still his friend. Clint only knows what Natasha has told him about the Winter Soldier. Most of it is pretty horrifying, even to a fellow assassin. Barnes has been conditioned to kill, as was Natasha. Clint has no illusions that what he's different from the Winter Soldier, maybe it's worse because he always has a choice — except when he doesn't … When he thinks about how many of his kills might have been orchestrated by Hydra, he can't force another mouthful of pancakes down his throat without gagging. 

He's about to bolt when they hear the whump-whump of chopper blades. Jarvis's calm tones inform them that Agent May is landing the helicopter even as he speaks. Tony stands up. "Bring them in, Jarvis."

Clint's heart is beating so hard he swears it's shaking his whole body. He holds his left palm against his chest, feels Natasha's hand curl into his right. Her eyes are wide, but other than that her face is completely calm and composed. 

The room narrows around him, like the world does when he's finding his zero in the crosshairs of his rifle scope, or the sights on his bow. The doorway is the only clear thing he sees, and everything else, everybody else, fades into a blur. The first person through the door is Maria Hill followed closely by Melinda May, Fitz and Simmons and a muscular dark-skinned man Clint recognizes as Antoine Triplett. 

"What's he doing here?" Clint spits out. "He's one of Garrett's —"

"Now he's one of us," A calm voice speaks and Clint suddenly can't breathe. Coulson looks older, tired. There are fading bruises on his face and a healing cut over his eyebrow; but the suit he's wearing is finely tailored and his silk tie is perfectly knotted. He looks at Clint, and his eyes are calm, as if he isn't facing a friend, a _lover_ who had been left grieving and bereft for nearly two years.

Clint tears his arm away from Natasha's grasp and leaves the room. He goes out to the balcony at the back of the house and slams his fist against a wooden post. He isn't even aware of the pain, which is odd, because he feels like his heart is tied up with barbed wire. His vision blurs and he digs the heels of his palm into his eyes, trying to stave off the tears. He can't. Coulson is alive, and he can't stop the emotions roiling through him. 

"Barton … Clint." Phil's voice is quiet and he lays his arm around Clint's heaving shoulders. "Please, stop." He wraps his hand around Clint's fist. "Breaking your bones isn't going to help."

 

Clint hadn't been aware he had been pounding his hand against the railing. He stills, looks at Phil's hand over his and falls to his knees. Phil follows him down, pulls him close.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have told Fury to go to hell and gone after you."

"How are you alive?" Clint asks. "I went to your service. I've seen your grave. I've dreamed of Loki laughing in my head as he stabbed you over and over. How did you survive?"

"Well, Loki … " Phil sighs. "He only stabbed me once."

"Once wasn't enough?" Clint's short laugh has more that a hint of hysteria to it.

"Apparently not." Phil sighs and settles with his back against the rails. "I didn't know how or why until just a few weeks ago. That doesn't absolve me of blame, but I was off chasing shadows for S.H.I.E.L.D., only to find that S.H.I.E.L.D. had its own agenda."

"Welcome to my world," Clint says bitterly. "Fury sent me away for months, keeping me in the field so I couldn't ask questions. He gave me your medical file and sat while I read every damned lie about how you died. I thought he was punishing me for what I did."

"It was Loki, Clint. I never thought anything else. I never blamed you any more than I blamed Thor for trying to redeem his brother. It's _over_ Clint. The only thing that isn't over, is the way I feel for you."

"What?" Clint can't believe what he's hearing. 

"Part of my 'treatment' erased my memories. I had to think twice about how to load a gun, for God's sake. I knew who you were. I remembered Natasha and the other Avengers. I remembered you — but not my emotions. It took a long time to recover my lost memories piece by piece. Once they started coming back, I knew there was s lot more that I had lost; Memories of my family, of my personal life. Details are hard for me. But when I started going through a box I found on the bus, I couldn't stop remembering. The cards with my blood on them, photos of us that Natasha took … I remembered. I was about to tell Nick that the project was over, that I was done being his pet experiment, when all this happened. Can you forgive me?"

The barbed wire releases its hold and Clint's heart starts beating. He raises his head and he lays his hand over Phil's. "I will never stop loving you. Forgiving Fury?" He shakes his head. "I can't."

"I know. I'm having a hard time myself." 

"I told Tony I wouldn't believe you were alive until I could see you and touch your scar."

Phil draws in a breath. He pulls away from Clint slightly and unknots his tie. He unbuttons his shirt. "I want you to touch me."

Clint looks at the vicious scar. "Does it hurt?"

"No. It's worse on my back, but I'm not stripping." Phil manages a smile and Clint huffs a shaky laugh. Then he stretches his hand and lays it on Phil's chest, fingers spread and his palm directly over the ridge of scar tissue. 

"It's just a scar, " Phil says quietly. "You know it's not the only one."

Clint had been afraid he would feel some residual magic, some taint of evil, but he only feels warm skin, the rise and fall of Phil's chest, the beat of his heart. He leans in, brushes his lips against Phil's softly at first, and then as Phil's arms tighten around him, the kiss deepens and he knows then, that Phil is alive, and Clint feels alive after feeling half-dead for so long.

Phil's eyes are shining and the crinkles are back at the corners. "As much as I'd like to stay here, I think we need to save the world."

"Again?" Clint clambers to his feet and pulls Phil upright. "When is it somebody else's turn?" Phil's brow rises and Clint drapes his arm around his shoulder. "I guess I should know better than to ask." 

"I have a plan," Phil says. 

"Good, because I don't think anybody else has a clue," Clint grins. "Just like the old days."

"In the old days, I was the one with the plan," Phil sighs. "Now I know why Fury brought me back to life."

Clint grabs him and pulls him in for a hard, quick kiss. "I'm still gonna punch Fury's lights out, but at least I won't kill him." 

Phil manages to look dazed and happy for a nanosecond before he realizes his shirt is still unbuttoned and his tie is hanging loose. He buttons up quickly and ties his tie. Clint straightens the knot. "Welcome back," Clint kisses him once again, chaste and fond. Phil's fingers drift over his hair. Clint can't resist leaning into the touch. It feels like coming home. 

**End Part One**


End file.
